


Over the River and Through the Woods

by Fandoms_Everywhere_United



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, M/M, Trans Character, Trans Lance (Voltron), Trans Male Character, Trans Male Lance (Voltron), herbs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-11-23 14:45:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18153236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fandoms_Everywhere_United/pseuds/Fandoms_Everywhere_United
Summary: Lance is desperate after being told that he can't carry a child because modern medicine was too harsh on his body.He resorts to less than modern techniques.





	Over the River and Through the Woods

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really sorry. This is probably really crappy and I apologize to all of you who are going to read it.

Over the river and through the woods.

Just like the old nursery rhyme, only Lance wasn’t going to his grandmother’s house. He turned left at the snaked tree, and he veered slightly right at the stone wolf, and _there_ nestled against the cliff’s edge was a cozy little lean-to with a circle door.

The breathy sounds of a flute could be heard through the chirping of birds and the bubbling of the small mountain stream that flowed beside the makeshift cottage.

Carefully, Lance stepped on the stepping stones, grabbing the chilled brass door knocker and hitting it against the wood, producing a hollow sound in time with the flute’s music.

By the third knock, the music had stopped, and the door creaked open in front of Lance. He braced himself for the haggard appearance of a witch… and was met with the beautiful planes of _his_ face.

They stared at each other for a few breathless moments. Lance’s blue eyes meet the witch’s dark grey ones and held them until he looked down, scuffing his feet on the dirt doorway. “Are you--” he cut himself off as the chatter of birds stilled around them.

The witch nodded. “I am.” He opened the door wider, allowing Lance to walk in. It closed behind him, and the only light that they had came from a small slit in the ceiling that illuminated the dust floating through the air with yellow light.

“I’m here for…” Lance trailed off, placing a hand on his abdomen. “I want to start a family.” He swallowed thickly, a lump getting caught in his throat. “I’ve heard you can help?”

The witch nodded, the barest hint of a smile spreading over his face. “You may call me Shiro,” he introduced himself, turning around before Lance could say anything to him. He pushed through curtains of Baddoth, Bageme, Kuhiaper, and Hunneadamon along with others that Lance couldn’t recognize.

“You are barren?” Shiro asked, plucking a few strands from where they were drying from the ceiling and placing them in a mortar and pestle that looked to have been carved from the cliff face right outside.

Lance nodded slightly. “Ever since I started… my transition. I was told I would never carry a child.” He bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood. “I don’t want that.”

Shiro scoffed from where he was working. “Your modern medicines… They work too well. They do more harm than good more times than naught.” He began working the herbs into a paste, grinding the leaves and filling the rest of the house with a sweet earthy smell almost immediately.

Lance hummed as his eyelids drooped; the smell of the herbs enhanced his already present desire to sleep.

“What is your age?” Shiro asked, his voice sounding breathy and low, not too different from the earlier flute music.

Shaken from his stupor, Lance blinked to clear his head as he took a while to answer the witch’s question. “I’m 23.”

He nodded, adding a few dried berries to the mortar before crushing them. “And you have a spouse? A husband presumably?”

Lance winced. “I… don’t. I don’t have anyone,” he said, looking back up to the witch who nodded, looking at him. He pulled another herb from the ceiling, tossing it into the mix.

He held a small knife out to Lance. “Cut your finger. I need three drops.”

He nodded, swallowing thickly before he brought the blade to the tip of his finger, pressing down enough for it to break the skin. The knife’s tip was reddened as he pulled it away, the blood welling from the cut, and he let three drops fall into the mortar.

Shiro took the same blade, wiping it down briefly before slicing through the top of his own finger, dripping three drops into the mixture before he muttered an incantation; the cut sealed.

He ground everything into a paste, and then he offered Lance the mortar with a spoon. “It will be bitter, but you will be able to bare a child.”

Lance nodded, taking most of it in the first bite before he almost retched it back up. Bitter was a definite understatement; it was worse than coffee grounds and the pith of an orange mixed together. It was gritty against his tongue as he choked it down, fighting the urge to vomit it back up.

A warmth spread through his body, starting in his stomach and burning into his empty womb. Instinctively, Lance put his hand on his stomach, feeling the heat thrum right beneath his skin.

“Is it done?” he asked.

Shiro nodded at him. “It is done.” He took the mortar back from Lance, the tips of their fingers brushed ever so slightly, sending a shock up both of their arms.

“Woah,” Lance said. “What was that?” He looked at Shiro, an eyebrow cocked.

The witch’s brow furrowed before his eyes widened. “You… it is you,” he muttered under his breath. “Your Mark, where is your Mark? It would have been just a spot, maybe nothing serious. Never hurt. Maybe a little darker than the skin around it.”

Lance shook his head. “My birthmark?” He pulled the collar of his shirt to the side, exposing his neck and chest. “I’ve had this little thing since I was born.” He pointed to a small almost white scar that rested right over his heart. It was no bigger than a Thanze leaf, and perfectly shaped like a healed over scar from an arrowhead.

Shiro blinked at him; he brought his hand up to cup the side of Lance’s face, looking into his eyes. “I had thought… Your eyes.” He shook his head as he took a step closer. “You are Lance? _My_ Lance?” he whispered.

Under his gaze, Lance shuddered. “That’s… my name. What is this about, Shiro?” he asked even as he leaned into Shiro’s hand, trying to sap more warmth from it.

“You have returned to me,” Shiro breathed, pressing their foreheads together and inhaling deeply. “After 24 years, my Lance has come home.”

A brief vision floated to Lance’s inner eye, a still image of Shiro sitting above him, looking down at him with tears in his eyes. He felt the pain in his chest directly over where his birthmark was. “Takashi…” he breathed.

“I had begun to think--” Shiro cut himself off. “I had begun to think that it did not work. Maybe I had not kept your soul from passing on as we had planned.” He reached his hand down, pulling Lance’s chin up. “As we promised?”

Lance smiled, leaning up on his tip-toes as he kissed Shiro’s lips softly. “You have my heart, Takashi. For always and forever.”

**Author's Note:**

> I am sorry about the ending. Yes. It's pretty crappy. Maybe I'll come back and change it sometime?


End file.
